


The Flames of Hell Between the Worlds

by Averia



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia
Summary: Two souls get caught at the crossroads.





	The Flames of Hell Between the Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, real-life caught up to me or rather University hit me like a high-speed train. To say the least, I planned Sladin Week pretty differently.
> 
> But I hope you enjoy Day 1 as a Day 4 as well. My new plan is to post the days 1, 3, 5, 7 from now till the end of Sladin Week and finish the other ones when the time comes.
> 
> (Ah yes, crossroad demons... the cheapest plot device like... ever. Thank you supernatural, for nothing.)

 His car rolled to a stop at the corner of the crossroad. Even before stepping out, he could taste the dry earth on his tongue. As expected, his car had not fared better than him. A thick covering of bright brown dirt encased the normally dark gleaming vehicle.

 

 Dusty streets and raided fields surrounded him. The blue sky was the only drop of color.

 

 Rubbing over his lone eye, he finally got to work. The box beside his driver's seat would not dig its own hole, no matter how much he wished it would. With the sun still high on the horizon, even the fairly easy task made him sweat. Not to mention that the earth was as hard as concrete.

 

 But if it were supposed to be easy, every fool would make a deal with the devil.

 

 Finally, he could kneel and open the box containing his son's graveyard dirt. He slid open his palm with the ritual knife Enchantress had given him.

 

 The blood dripped onto the earth, glinting darkly in the sun for but a moment before it was absorbed greedily. Maybe the hell-hounds were already thirsting for a taste of his soul. He closed the box once more and pushed the earth over it loosely, ignoring the dirt catching in his wound while he spoke the whispered words of a language long forgotten.

 

 His sight seemed to shift, the burn of the sun suddenly too hot and his wound throbbing and swelling as if inflamed. Instead of showing weakness, he pushed up onto steady feet and glanced down at his hand, only to find the cut gone.

 

 He had known the shift might happen. Crossroads where neither here nor there, a place between the worlds.

 

 "Hi."

 

 Slade did not jump at the voice, but he very nearly slashed the man's jugular open with the ritual knife.

 

 "Woah, ok."

 

 Hands were held up in the universal sign of surrender, but Slade kept his knife up, studied the man for a moment before letting it fall again.

 

 He had seen him before with another demon-witch. Focused on his conversation with Enchantress, he had ignored the talk Raven had with her own costumer.

 

 What were the odds that two people had been sent to the same crossroad at the same time?

 

 Not that high, people would have warned him if it were. Then again, only one crossroad on every continental plate was not a lot and the people knowledgeable about magic had grown in numbers ever since Zatanna had started her tour.

 

 Slade glanced back to the middle of the crossroads, the dirt was loose in a broader spot, and their boxes had to be overlapping.

 

 Betwixt and between, Enchantress had warned him.

 

 What were the odds?

 

 He could not see through the black sunglasses, but the young man was just as affected by the heat as he was. Even if the man was a devil, the devil, or even just a lesser demon, killing him would not get him any bonus points.

 

 "How long have you been here, Kid?"

 

 The young man shrugged, studied him curiously if the tilt of his head was any indication.

 

 "A few minutes. By the way, I'm Dick."

 

 A hand was held out and Slade looked down at it, then back at Dick, raising an eyebrow.

 

 "Slade," he answered without taking it.

 

 The hand found its way to the tanned neck, rubbing.

 

 "Right. No, handshakes," he looked into the distance over the dried up land as if it would make the awkwardness disappear, "Will it even work with two people here? Or will they just think, 'Hurray, two souls for hell.'?"

 

 The grin was blinding and Slade had to wonder if the kid would not be better 6ft underground. His arms crossed on their own accord at the absurdity of it all and Dick tilted his head down as if chastised.

 

 "Riiight," he said, biting his lip, "I guess you did not come for conversation. I can deal with that."

 

 "Are you sure?" Slade did not know what compelled him to respond and when the kid smiled, he nearly took a step back. To breeze through his defenses was not easy, yet the genuine happiness touched him at his core.

 

 Angels came to his mind instead of demons. Innocence.

 

 As if on cue or as if in sync with his thoughts a breeze ruffled the jet black hair, made strands frame the elegant face just right.

 

 Was the unearthly appeal of the man an illusion by the crossroads or was he standing in front of a creature of heaven or hell?

 

 "I guess you won't tell me what you are here for?"

 

 Slade did not answer and Dick frowned.

 

 "I mean it has to be something big. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

 

 Slade shifted his attention away from his unwelcome companion to grab a water bottle, successfully undermining any further attempt at conversation. On the streets or in a bar, he would have humored the young man, but out here, he needed no distractions.

 

 Minutes passed by and Dick kept his mouth shut for longer than Slade expected. A sigh, then a clunk of metal when Dick let his head fall back against his car.

 

 "We've been here for ages."

 

 Maybe. It was hard to tell. The sun was still shining brightly over their heads and had not moved at all.

 

 "You think the demon is only going to appear if there is only one of us?"

 

 Slade was suddenly very aware of the ritual knife still attached to his belt. It would not be difficult to spill the blood of another over the dirt.

 

 "I don't know," Slade responded instead of acting on the sudden urge to dispose of him, "Why are you here?"

 

 Dick tilted his head enough to look up at him. Something between a sigh and a huff escaped his lips.

 

 "To take vengeance on a spirit of chaos that has tormented my family for decades."

 

 His son's resurrection would only be in danger if Dick was trying to resurrect another person as well.

 

 Maybe the devil was a metaphor; maybe no demon appeared at all but another human. One that would bring him closer to his goal. A spirit of chaos had power, the power he might have to take to resurrect his son. But where was the catch? Him being dead while his son was alive? Taking the spirit's place?

 

 "I'm a hunter. Maybe we can help each other."

 

 "You think that's what they want from us?"

 

 "Yes." A spirit of chaos would be a thorn in the demons' sides as well. Order was important even in hell. Maybe especially in hell.

 

 "What do they get from it?"

 

 "They might not be able to act against the creature you describe on their own."

 

 Dick opened his mouth, closed it again and then pulled his sunglasses down. His eyes were like the sky, endless and warm.

 

 "So," he hesitated, "you are going to help me?"

 

 "Yes," Slade answered, holding out his hand.

 

 Dick stared up at him in disbelieve, but soon enough a strong, calloused but smaller hand encased his.

 

 "Only to get rid of the creature of chaos you mentioned."

 

 Dick blinked at him, lips forming into a smile. A chuckle escaped him.

 

 "That is more than enough, Slade. You won't want to leave after you did."

 

 Slade had not expected a devil to look like an angel, had not expected the devil to look this young. Was this still just a demon doing the bidding of a greater one?

 

 " _Oh, Slade._ I ate the first devil for breakfast a thousand years ago when he thought I was a fledgling ripe for the picking. Instead, I picked him. When you are done with your task, you'll be a fine addition to my collection."

 

 "Collection, really?" but his words never reached Dick, they echoed around the in-between and disappeared in orange light.

 

 Out of the in-between midday had turned to midnight and the light of runes slowly dimmed over his chest. If a fledgling angel had been able to eat a devil, who was it to say a hunter could not do the same?

 

 "Dad."

 

 His body froze, his mind came to a halt and when he turned Grant was sitting in the middle of the crossroads.

 

 "Son."

 

 He had not seen his face for years. Grant did not look a day older. Even the gun in his hand was the same he had held that day.

 

 "You are bringing me back."

 

 "I am."

 

 Slade could not believe it was working. Sure, he had chased this goal for so long, but deep down he had always suspected, that he would never reach the end.

 

 "I'll show you how to be a proper Hunter. The way it was meant to be."

 

 Grant had never been on his side, even when he had started hunting, but Grant had wanted to be like him. To show him his son now was a good move and a bad one. He would get close to his son, as a hunter or a spirit and then he would dethrone the little fledgling; turn the collection around. A self-righteous lot they were, demons and angels alike.

High above midnight ended and M closed his eyes, sending the son back in another burst of orange light. Apollo's reign began anew under the watchful eyes of the blue flames of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> A collection, whoever might that be?
> 
> #Day 1: Deal with the Devil


End file.
